Surviving Exile

 Partial Lyrics ~"Sound Of Surviving" ~ Nichole Nordeman

They told me
I'd never get to tell my story
Too many bullet holes
It would take a miracle

These voices
Inside my head like poison
Trying to steal my hope
Silencing my soul

But my story is only now beginning
Don't try to write my ending
Nobody gets to sing my song

These pieces
The ones that left me bleeding
Intended for my pain
Became the gift You gave me
I gathered those pieces into a mountain
My freedom is in view
I'm stronger than I knew

This is the sound of surviving
This is my farewell to fear
This is my whole heart deciding
I'm still here, I'm still here
And I'm not done fighting
This is the sound of surviving…

Song Video Link >>>  https://youtu.be/IaOExJJa_YA

  

“All of us are given moments, days, months, years of exile. What will we do with them? Wish we were someplace else? Complain? Escape into fantasies? Drug ourselves into oblivion? Or build and plant and marry and seek the peace of the place we inhabit and the people we are with? Exile reveals what really matters and frees us to pursue what really matters, which is to seek the Lord with all our hearts.” 

  ~ From Run with the Horses by Eugene Peterson. 

A diagnosis of a disease, an elderly spouse needing care or an abrupt natural disaster can send anyone of us into a place of exile. Open to the elements, once our security is removed, we are bare within humanity. 

The urge to fight or flight becomes apparent. 

As a result, there lingers the anxiety we have when faced with exile that latches onto the shadows of our fears. 

With the invasion of flames rupturing our Province’s burnt skylines and acrid smoke thick in the air, many evacuees have fled. Their exile is greeted by caring people and organizations, offering hope of better days. 

Meanwhile, firefighters combat their own uncertainties, amongst the destruction. In a realm of infernos, their choice to enter places of exile in order to serve, protect and rescue, is ingrained in their code of conduct.

 Many of the daily stories filtered in, gives us a reason to share tears, even if those are of liquid misery. A stream of reports conveys the lives of stranger’s desolation. Like those who are having their immigration status revoked and the confinement of refugee children, torn from their loved ones. The crimes of immoral acts are widespread. Rohingya women whose bodies were defiled by Myanmar Soldiers – are due to give birth to those – already branded with exile. 

Yet historically, when tragedy spears itself into the hearts of unsuspecting people, the smallest spark ruptures the void. Those feeling shattered find radiance in the most unlikely places. As a result, the enlightenment we carry within becomes an invisible torch, where the darkness cannot exist, as it is void of energy.

In its place is the golden key of compassion where moments form out of empathy. A soft voice on the other end of the phone line, the flickering candles of remembrance and in the gathering of hockey sticks spread across the world, humanity is united.

 

Roots & Wings by Jason Emmons Indiana, US 2018

Dedicated to Humbolt 

We embrace a new version of love that is knotted with lamenting; where the injustices of our broken world are part of the window displays, in our daily lives. 

For me, I choose to see people as one of a kind individuals. Removing the labels of the social order, I acknowledge their passages of suffering. In order to accept change, is to risk exile and yet the path I am on, was created by the one God I believe in. 

During my time, working in the northern region as a BC Park Operator, I have savoured the company of isolation. Other times; needing to connect with the outside world, I have leaned out of my accommodations, to get a single bar on my cellular phone. 

My daily routine has seen me surrounded by an outdoor office, where words fall short to describe the beauty. My ears have been saturated with nature’s symphony of rustling birch leaves, while my eyes have seen rays of light, play off the sunburned tops of picnic tables. 

When campers arrive, I see a chance to help form an experience they will cherish past the summer rush. Every person who comes to Moberly Lake Provincial Park arrives with a purpose — to escape and find peace amongst their space. Some plan family reunions, while others celebrate a milestone…like a 43^rd wedding anniversary. 

Moberly Lake Provincial Park

Then, there are those whose get away… is from something they want to leave behind. 

For those who have extended stays, as P.O’s we get to know them on a more personal level. Soon, everyone is on a first name basis. Instead of seeing us as outsiders invading their camping areas, we are welcomed in with smiles.

Their children are entrusted to us at the picnic shelter to play a friendly game of nature bingo or a horde of them jump on bicycles to go find the “Moberly boat” I have hidden. It has brought me joy to give to the kids, BC Parks posters, Jerry the Moose pins and summer toys. The scavenger hunt is one of my personal favourites, as I like to see the empty boxes filled with children’s drawings. Their rendition of me with stick arms and long hair has been spot on. 

As the seasonal contract draws to a close at the beginning of September, I will leave here a changed person. Not solely because of one individual, but a collective group of experiences that has enriched my story telling.

I have had God connections with people like Kelly and a wonderful duo named Kim and Rob. A couple, who were returning from Alaska and had camped with us prior to their trip, brought me back three kinds of Cherries. I had mentioned how much I missed the Okanagan cherries, where I once lived and they remembered. 

I have shared poignant moments with little campers too. Hugging a little girl going in for surgery, I shared how brave she was and presented her with a pin. As someone who always has spare cards on hand, I offered birthday and anniversary ones penned in well-wishes. I smile recalling a time when a camper was craving popcorn. Minutes later, I returned with a bag from my own cupboard. 

 

In a world of disconnect, it is the littlest of things that can matter the most.

Throughout the months, I marvelled over what people brought to sleep and travel in; with several, original, designs I would call any one of them a lovely, cozy home. Not having a place of my own for 2 years now, has me yearning to settle and create my own safe haven. 

 

Months ago, I came here seeking something I never knew I was missing. It took me exiling myself to the great north, to discover what that was. 

In relocating back to Vancouver Island (Victoria/Sidney), everything I am praying for; a new church home, a job as a Grief/ Mental Health Care Companion, a place of shelter and even a used vehicle is in the hands of my Creator. 

I trust in where I am being lead; giving thanks to God for the blessings of seeing those along my return travels. 

During my time at Moberly, I made major life decisions. After nearly 5 years of being single, I am ready to love again in a way I have never truly experienced.

I am not yearning for a perfect union, but a relationship with someone who walks in the Spirit and serves the Lord. A man who will place value on me in the midst of life’s distractions and desires faith, working for the Lord with all his heart.

The other resolution is on the topic of my book, “Under the Sitka Tree.” I am humbled by those who have supported my writing throughout the years, the blogs I have posted on and website created for Sitka. My own written words have taken me to places and people I never could have imagined. It has been a refuge for me to exile myself to. Like a best friend who you never want to ‘let go,’ I have held tightly onto every page. 

This summer I heard many times:

“Let me know when your book is published!”

Last week, I exchanged passion for the written word with a young man named Charlie who was from Massachusetts. The following morning, after his departure, clipped to his post was his camping fee and the following note: 

Charlie's note: "Thank you Tonya! I can't wait to read Under the Sitka Tree. Be Well"

Charlie is a travelling researcher and working for another writer. On the late eve of his arrival, I handed him a card for my book and greatly appreciated his simple response.

While I have kept busy working, on my mind is the 12,000 words I still need to edit in my novel. 

This month, as I  worked to remove debris amongst a grove of white spruce, I tossed pebbles into the undergrowth and came to realize something that has been there all along…to understand the many sides of exile—some harsher than others…takes a journey encircled with renewal. 

By TL Alton